


Solitude

by Alouette_of_Grace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Sam, Angst, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Lucifer's Cage, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Season/Series 06, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2511062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alouette_of_Grace/pseuds/Alouette_of_Grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two centuries since he's seen anyone or heard anything besides his own screams. He remembers only four names: Lucifer, Bobby, Castiel, and Dean. If only he knew who they were.<br/>Sam's soul returns with memory of the pit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam hasn't seen anyone since he got here. No Lucifer, no Michael. Not even Adam has appeared to him. It's silent. He's never heard a single soul.

The pain is still there. He still feels it when the skin is torn from his body. He still hears his own screams and sobs. He still sees the bright red blood dripping to the ground.

He wonders how long he's been here. Has he always been in Hell?

Names swirl around in his mind, disappearing over time. After about a century, there's only four left: Lucifer, Bobby, Castiel, and Dean. He doesn't really remember who they are. He only has feelings to go on.

Lucifer he has tried to forget; just thinking about him makes Sam feel ill. But it's the one name he can't seem to forget. It's always there, prickling at the back of his mind, taunting him.

He fears he will forget Bobby and Castiel. He cares about them, though he can't remember why. Their names fade with every passing year, but he clings to them, stopping them from disappearing entirely. He doesn't want to lose the warmth he feels thinking of them, but he knows it's only a matter of time.

Dean is always there, fluttering behind his eyelids. Sam's crippled by guilt whenever he thinks of him, but he remembers their loyalty to each other. He knows he could never forget Dean. He's the only one Sam still remembers, even vaguely, the appearance of- short brown hair, lighter than his own, and hard green eyes. Sometimes he even remembers his voice.

_Sammy…_

_…_ _Sam…_

Dean is everything to him. It's almost painful to not know why.

When his ribs suddenly splinter into shards and blood bubbles up his throat, it's Dean he screams for. When his eyes are ripped out and his world immersed in darkness, he still sees Dean's name. When blood drips down from his ears and all he hears is silence, a quiet  _"Sammy"_ pulls him through. When he can't scream anymore, he still mouths  _Dean_.

In his more lucid moments, Sam wonders who these names belonged to. He thinks Bobby might be his father. Castiel seems to be his friend- he's almost positive of that. Dean? His brother. He knows that much. Only family could make him feel so awful and Sam still love them.

Of course, this is assuming they exist.

Most of the time, he doubts their actuality. If they care about him like he does them, why haven't they come? It's the only logical explanation. Unless…

That guilt he feels. There has to be a reason for it. It's always there, and all Sam ever wants to do is apologize- but to whom? And for what? He doesn't even know what he did, but it must have been horrible for him to be stuck here. Maybe- maybe he's supposed to be here. Maybe they all know he's here and don't come to save him because he deserves it.

Sam clings to this idea. He  _wants_  it to be true. All this pain, this loneliness, this suffering- it has to be for  _something._ The decades he's spent here, they can't have been for nothing. The idea that it was all just a fluke, that he shouldn't be here- it's too much. He can't think of it.

He deserves this. This is his penance.

He hopes this is enough of an apology for Dean.

* * *

And suddenly, it's all gone.

Sam blinks. He doesn't know where he is. The room is far less dark than Hell, which was only bright enough to allow souls to see their own blood. He blinks again, dazed, and tries calm down.

This isn't normal.

Is this real?

After a moment of listening to his heavy breathing, he hears something. A fan spins overhead. Voices faintly echo from above.

It takes Sam a minute to realize he's shaking. This isn't normal. There isn't supposed to be sound. Just him and his screams.

He manages to quell the trembling for a moment and sits up. He's surrounded by iron walls, but a door lies open in front of him. The voices start up again, and Sam feels a strange pull towards them. He needs to hear them up close.

But he can't bring himself to move.

_This can't be real._

There's no possible scenario that could bring him here. He has to be dreaming- something he can't remember having done before.

He wants to pretend though, for a moment, that this is real. That, maybe, he'll go upstairs and be met by actual people. He'll be forgiven. He'll never have to go back- never have to be alone again.

It's a pleasant fantasy, enough to convince him to stand. His legs shake, and Sam leans on the bed for a moment. He pushes off quickly, though, a rare expression of determination crossing his face. It takes a while, but he manages to stumble up the stairs, albeit ungracefully. It's not really his fault, though; he's never encountered them before.

The voices are louder now, and Sam feels something growing in his chest, a cocktail of panic, desperation, and hope. He knows these voices. It's hard for him to distinguish the words, but one stands out.

_"_ _Sam…"_

The world tilts, and suddenly Sam finds himself leaning against the wall. He wants nothing more than to run in there and finally see  _Dean_. And yet he can't go. His stomach churns, and headache begins to form. He hasn't had to deal with this kind of stress in a long time.

Before he can think, Sam's moving again, towards the voices, towards  _Dean_. He stands in the doorway and  _stares._

He hears words, but they're muffled, like he's underwater. He's spinning, and the floor is rising up to meet him. The world fills with darkness, but not before Sam's eyes meet startling green.

"Dean?"

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Bobby make an appearance.

Dean feels sick. He downs another glass, but the warm burn of whiskey isn't any more comforting than it was the last few times. He feels Bobby's eyes on him, sending him concerned glances every time he sighs.

"He'll be alright, Dean," Bobby says at last.

Giving a weak, hysterical chuckle, Dean just shakes his head. "No, Bobby, no…" His eyes are burning, and he gives them a harsh rub. "Did you see him? The way he looked at me… It was like he hardly knew me."

"Give him time; the boy's been through a lot, but long as he's got that wall, he'll be alright."

"That's just it Bobby- the wall didn't work." Dean casts his gaze earnestly over, willing him to understand. "The way he looked… there's no way he doesn't remember. You don't  _faint_  from something you can't remember."

But Bobby just sighs. "You can't know that for certain 'til he wakes up again. It ain't something you can change."

With a resigned grimace, Dean drops his glass and rests his face in his hands. He regards the still body lying next to him with unwavering scrutiny. Sam's breathing is slow, his eyelids twitching from some unknown memory or dream. After what happened last time, Dean doesn't plan on leaving until he's sure that his brother is okay.

He doubts Sam's panic was a one-time occurrence, as much as he wishes it were so. Chances are, Sam will wake with that same disbelieving, terrified expression. Dean never wants to see it again.

After a while, Bobby departs, mumbling something about dinner, but Dean hardly notices, his attention solely fixed on his brother. Part of him wonders if Sam  _ever_  will wake again, or if his mind just shut down after fainting. He hates himself for thinking that.

"C'mon Sammy…" Dean whispers, watching the comforting rise and fall of Sam's chest. Before he can stop it, his hand reaches out, grasping his brother's in a tight grip. He waits.

"Really, Dean?" Sammy should say, rolling his eyes at Dean's sudden chick-flick moment. But he doesn't. He just continues lying there, silent and still, save for his soft breaths. There's not even a twitch of acknowledgement. As quickly as he'd grabbed it, Dean releases the hand, clutching his own to his chest as if burnt.

He hadn't expected Sam to awaken, not really, but part of him had hoped. He still hopes, even as Sam sleeps on, unknowing. Nevertheless, it's obvious he won't be up anytime soon. Dean pours himself another glass of whiskey.

* * *

It's dark and quiet, and Sam realizes he's back in the cage. Really, he'd never left. But as he lies there fully wakens, his senses sharpen. He can hear breathing, faint but not his own, and the steady whooshing of a fan. He lies on a soft, comfortable surface.

He's not in the cage.

His stomach flips uneasily, and Sam isn't sure what to think. Did he really leave? Or…Or what else could it be? He struggles to recall what had happened in his previous… dream. He remembers mounting the stairs and following the voices. He remembers falling and a pair of dark green eyes.  _Dean_.

Sam sits up suddenly, ignoring the vertigo, and waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He vaguely recognizes the room as being the same as before- same walls, same fan, same chair-

Sam's head swivels back towards the chair- the occupied chair. For a moment, he forgets to breathe, and when he remembers, it's a shallow, panicked sound. It's too dark to make out any features, but a small, hopeful part of him insists that it must be Dean. Yet he remembers that there was more than one person upstairs. Two, maybe? He can't make himself care. Dean or not, it's a  _person_.

An unfamiliar expression makes its way onto his face, and, for a second, Sam is confused. Then he realizes he's smiling. And why shouldn't he be? He's free. He's not in pain. He's not  _alone_.

As if doused by water, his happiness is extinguished. What if this isn't real or… or even a dream? What if he's just finally cracked, and this whole thing- Dean, the room,  _everything_ \- is just a fragment of his demented psyche?

"Sa…Sam…?" His mind goes blank at the groggy voice. The figure shifts, stretches, and freezes, his eyes locking on Sam's upright form. "Sam," he breathes again, his voice awed and shocked and a little bit worried. The man fumbles around on the wall briefly, and the lights turn on.

It's Dean, just like Sam had hoped.

Dean's grinning, the dark circles under his eyes seeming to disappear with the mirth. But then the joy fades into something more worried and fearful; Dean moves closer, his forehead knit together. "Hey, Sammy," he says, watching his brother's expression carefully. "You okay?"

Sam just looks blankly at him a moment, his eyes swirling with indecipherable emotions. He blinks, and seems to rouse himself from a trance. His eyes fix on Dean's and remain there, as if trying to take in every minute detail.

"Dean," he says at last, his voice so muted and weak that Dean isn't sure if Sam has really spoken. There's something in his face, a mix of adoration and fear, that makes Dean feel sick. "Dean?" Sam says again, the tiniest bit louder. This time, Dean can pick up the questioning tone, the uncertainty in the word.

"Y-Yeah, Sammy, it's me," Dean says, clearing his throat and cursing his weakness. He reaches out, placing a hand on his brother's knee. He doesn't miss the flinch or the startled look he gets, but Dean just grins brokenly and pretends not to notice.

"W-why…?" Sam breathes, looking around as if seeing the room for the first time. "Where…?" He moves to stand, but Dean holds up a hand to stop him.

"Take it easy, man. What's the last thing you remember?"

Sam's giving him a calculating look, as if he thinks Dean might be trying to trick him. "Hell."

Dean's fake grin fades. "Oh… You weren't…" Sam's face falls guiltily. Dean closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He needs to calm down. This isn't about him. This is about Sam. "That's fine, Sam. I got you out of the cage, so we're good now."

Sam relaxes slightly, and Dean counts that as a success. "We're at Bobby's right now- panic room. Bobby's upstairs. You want me to get him?"

Sam's eyes widen in surprise. "Bobby? You mean… he's here. He's-" Sam cuts himself off. He gets the feeling that he's expected to  _know_  that Bobby's real. Bobby means a lot to him, but his memories of the man are so vague and scattered that most of the time Sam's positive that Bobby is just some sort of coping mechanism.

Dean's gaze seems to see right through him, and, for the first time, Sam is unnerved by his presence. Eventually, Dean glances away, exhales, and speaks. "Yeah, Sammy. He's here. Why would you-"

Dean stops, eyes widening. "You don't… you don't know what happened after you jumped, huh? Cas got resurrected with all his angel powers and used his mojo to heal Bobby. They're both fine."

Sam just stares at Dean. Jumped? Resurrected? He's not sure what Dean's going on about but nods anyway. Then he realizes something. "Wait, Cas? As in Castiel? He's here too? I thought… I mean, they're  _both_ real?"

And now Dean is staring at him with a  _very_  concerned look. "Sammy," he says, his voice uncertain with an undertone of horror. "What do you remember from  _before_  Hell?"

"I… I don't…" He stops there; he doesn't remember anything. Not a single moment.

Dean leaps up from his seat, and Sam flinches away, looking at him warily. Dean swears colorfully, running a hand down his face. "Well, thanks a lot Death.  _You put the fucking wall in the wrong place!_ "

Sam winces a little at the noise. It doesn't frighten him, but the volume is far more than he's used to. Just whispering is more than he's used to. Apparently, the yelling doesn't bother only him; he soon hears someone run down the stairs.

"I take it Sam's awake," comes a gruff voice from the doorway. Sam whips around to stare at the new person. For an unknown reason, his hand instinctively reaches under his pillow, grasping for something that isn't there. When he actually lays eyes on the newcomer, he doesn't recognize him, but there's a sense of familiarity that surpasses memory. He relaxes.

Bobby sees Sam first, and his face softens. "How you holding up, Sam?" Before he can answer with an automatic 'fine,' Dean cuts him off. "He doesn't remember anything."

"Well, that's good, ain't it?"

"No, Bobby, he remembers Hell, he just doesn't remember  _anything else_." Bobby's eyes stare at Sam as if seeing him for the first time. "Damn." And to Sam's dismay, Bobby raises his voice as well. "You're saying he doesn't remember  _anything_? He even remember us?"

At this Dean stills and regards Sam thoughtfully. "Well, he remembers my name… You remember anything else, Sammy?"

Sam shifts under the scrutiny of their gazes. "I… I know you're my brother, and I remember both of your names- Castiel's too…" He trails off. "…and Lucifer's." He immediately regrets saying it. Dean's eyes darken.

"You remember Lucifer but not… not John? Jess? Ellen?" The names seem familiar, but they have no feelings tied to them. They're just words. Sam shakes his head no.

Dean sighs, and reaches for the whiskey. Bobby does the same. Dean brightens after a moment. "But hey, you remember who I am. Can't forget your awesome older brother, huh?" Sam gets the feeling that this happiness is an act for his sake, so he makes an effort to smile. The small spark of joy that gesture brings to his brother's eyes makes it all worthwhile.

"You remember who Bobby is?" Dean asks after a beat of silence.

Sam hesitates a moment, scrutinizing Bobby for any clues. Eventually, he gives up, and goes with his best guess. "Are you… my dad?"

Bobby gives a startled laugh. "Might as well be." Dean seems to be content with his brother's answer, and Sam allows himself a small feeling of victory.

They sit in silence, and Sam relishes in the simple pleasure of company. But after a few minutes, he finally asks a question that's been nagging him. "Um," he begins eloquently, and flushes when both pairs of eyes immediately turn to him. "Who… who's Lucifer?"

He can tell it's the wrong question to ask just by the looks he gets. Dean and Bobby share a glance, silently debating something, before Dean turns to him again. "Lucifer… Lucifer's the one that was with you in the cage."

At first Sam thinks he must have heard wrong because there was  _no one_  in the cage but him. He would have seen if someone else were with him. He would have noticed. "That's not possible," he says resolutely, still speaking in almost a whisper. "I was alone. I never saw anyone."

Dean and Bobby exchange looks once again. "So you're saying you were  _completely_  alone? No demons, no angels, nada?" Dean asks. When Sam shakes his head, Dean lets out a breath. "Thank god."

Sam wonders if Dean is always this hard to follow, or if Sam has just forgotten how to hold a conversation. There's no way Dean is saying what he seems to be- that being alone your whole life, no one to speak to, no one to touch- is a good thing.

Bobby seems to notice Sam's puzzlement, and elaborates. "He means he's glad you weren't tortured, son," he says gently. "Hell ain't no picnic for nobody. Now I'm not saying being alone that long was a walk in the park, but you gotta understand that it could of been a lot worse."

Sam considers this. His mind is strangely sluggish, but after a few seconds, it dawns on him. They think he wasn't harmed- physically, at least. It's a logical assumption; if no one's there, who does the torturing? Sam isn't sure what to say. Should he tell the truth?

Do they really need to know what happened? He remembers the pain. It's all he remembers aside from loneliness. He would sit there, gasping, having just recovered from a previous session, when his skin would start peeling off in wet, bloody chunks.

He whimpers, curling in on himself, hands scrabbling to hold his flesh on. Screaming, he slips and falls into a pool of his own blood. Uncontrollable tears stream down his face. They start burning, as if they're made of acid, and he wails until his throat is raw. Sobbing, shaking, pleading, his whole body convulsing on the ground, Sam tries to claw out his eyes. Rough, calloused hands hold him back, and Sam struggles against them. He  _needs_ to stop the tears. Don't they understand? Why won't Dean let him-

Sam blinks, and the pain is gone.

"Sammy? Sam, c'mon, man, you're okay…" He feels hands grasping his shoulders, pinning him down. He trembles, eyes refocusing as the blood fades from view. The red is gone, replaced by sparkling green. There's no green in the cage.

He comes back completely now, and sees Dean staring down at him, his face betraying concern and fear. Slowly, he removes his hands from Sam's shoulders, watching him like he expects his brother to shatter at any moment. "I'm okay," Sam says and is struck by the feeling that he's said this before, a lifetime ago. He wonders if it was a lie then too; that would explain Dean's obvious disbelief.

"Of course you are," Dean says, looking genuinely angry at Sam for the first time. "I'm sure you're just peachy." Bobby gives Dean a disapproving glance.

"Maybe not," Sam elaborates, eyes cast downward, "but I will be."

He  _needs_  Dean to believe it. How else can Sam convince himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that I haven't actually seen anything past season 5 besides a considerable amount of spoilers, so I won't be completely accurate. This story is kind of AU anyway.
> 
> Remember that in this story, Sam spent about 200 years without human (or angel/demon) contact, so if he's a little... out of character, that may be why.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading.


End file.
